


for blue skies (I forgive you)

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Series: under 1k fic [35]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Introspection, an attempt at understanding lana lang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 03:12:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14886540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: "Watch as I bleed myself onto canvas," she says.I will write my own fairytale.





	for blue skies (I forgive you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [utterlyheartbroken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/utterlyheartbroken/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the moodboard for this work](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/388209) by mostlikelydefinentlymad. 
  * Inspired by [for blue skies](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/388316) by strays don't sleep. 



> for amira ❤ you inspire me always.

 

 

She wore her grief as an open wound, as a luminous weapon loose around her throat. As a reminder that death was an old friend who would take away every yesterday if given the chance. If you were to ask her how she thought the world would end she’d tell you,  _ **it will end as it began; in a fiery explosion. You will not survive.**_

She was a child when the sky shattered the first time. Dirt, smudged like paint on her cheeks, streaks of tears where color should’ve been. A crooked crown, fractured plastic jewels, the fallout as a glossy snapshot of grief. 

She’s eighteen and the world is holding steady. She prays for the end in shadowed cemeteries. 

Years into her grief, someone suggests art as an outlet.

She takes a paintbrush in hand and feels the weight of it, solid in her palm. Touches a finger to a thick sheaf of bristles. She centers her focus, pictures her mother's saltwater pearls polished to a shine. The blood has never touched them. The dirt will not stick. Lana will wash the stains from their memory.  

She takes a deep breath and says, "Watch as I bleed myself onto canvas. I will write my own fairytale."  


End file.
